To the little girl in the princess sheets You hear tales of the bad guys Always being monsters with long nails and sharp teeth hidden in your dark closet or at the end of your bed Lurking around in the shadows waiting to grab you
They're never kings with endless gold Or knights with shining armour Never blonde haired and blue eyed with a contagious smile
So when the smiling man with the blonde hair and blue eyes Asked you to step into his palace Not once did you think to question the intentions Of his soft and familiar fingertips.
So when you found yourself locked beneath his claws Telling you, you want it You will try to convince yourself that you asked him to That the sliver of skin must have been an invitation
Don't believe that Because you are a ******* princess And all the other boys and girls with cut out tongues Will help you tell your story...
They will help Tell the guards and the monsters that No matter how many times they ask you to be quiet You will scream and shout until every prince and princess Feels safe against intruders who come inside their homes
It is time to come out from under your princess sheets Because you are stronger than you could ever imagine YOUR WORDS can rescue trauma embedded in the minds of others YOUR WORDS can crumble kingdoms YOUR WORDS can save others.
He had no flesh left his bones protrude through the skin he hid behind As he approached my window at 1:02 I wonder what to do What to say How to make him feel content even when everyone is telling him he's not good enough
We were 12 when we would walk down the street and have men look us up and down, staring at us hungrily. Men smiling and whistling at us like we are some sort of pet that they were trying to catch.
we were 13 when we had to watch what we wore because if too much shoulder was showing or if our shorts were too short we would distract the boys at school from their “learning” because clearly boys learning is more important than ours seeing the only thing we were learning were tips and tricks about what we should and shouldn't be wearing... because if our skirts were too short or our stomach was too exposed that would show the guys that we “wanted it.”
But clearly those tips and tricks didn't help because at the age of 14 we were grabbed by boys at the mall and in the streets, but it was okay because “it meant we were hot and had **** bodies.” but There is nothing **** about getting used to saying “there was this man who…”
We were 15 when we yelled and sobbed because the men that use to stare at us on the streets found their way into our sheets... as we cried "no, Please don't touch us there ” but I guess my no sounded like a yes and my don't touch me sounded like a carry on and that my terrified eyes and paralyzed body looked like I want to be touched. Even after everything that happened People tried to teach us that there was nothing that I could do about it and that we should just count ourselves lucky and get use to it…. But how is it possible to get use to being a human object that men can touch whistle and purr at as they please.
We went from having little boys call us names and pulling on our braids to having a trail of tears fall down our faces each night .Because we knew once we closed our puffy and abused eyes, we would see the men, the men who found their way in our dreams... I guess We went from playing with toys to eventually becoming toys ourselves.